swim (or else drown)
by daphno
Summary: He's not surprised when they turn up on his porch. He is surprised that they turn up together. (Post-ep for Damned If You Do, teamy goodness & Tiva cuteness.)
1. Prologue

He's not surprised when they turn up on his porch. He _is _surprised that they turn up together.

It wasn't that they'd agreed to hang out, per se, but there had been that sullen look of weird solidarity they had going on the entire day that seemed to say, to Tony at least, _we're in this together._ And they were. Together. On his front porch. Half-smiles and half a box of pizza offered up.

"McGee got hungry in the car," says Ziva. McGee looks affronted, but guilty as all hell.

"Sure he did. _McGobble_." Tony hasn't decided whether or not he's going to let them in. The day was long and tiring, not to mention the fact that they conjured some kind of resignation pact that hasn't yet sunk in. He is unemployed. They are all unemployed. Gibbs is in police custody and his team is unemployed, eating pizza in the middle of the night. Tony figures that sort of thing takes some getting used to.

"You gonna let us in?" McGee looks antsy, like too much time standing still and doing nothing but thinking might make him change his mind about resignation.

Tony shrugs and is about to say something witty but then Ziva pushes past him and dumps the open pizza box on his couch. _Okay then_. McGee follows suit, shucking his jacket and settling into the armchair. Tony scowls at them both, in turn, and moves to mute the volume on his TV.

"So," says McGee.

"So," says Ziva.

Tony realizes just how much he's going to miss working with them day in, day out.

He keeps his voice emotionless, though. The last thing they need is to talk about _feelings. _"You talk to Abby?"

"Yeah," says McGee, "She's a wreck, obviously."

Tony feels bad, internally, like maybe resignation for Gibbs's sake had more effects on the inner workings of the team than he expected. Abby has lost not one, but four team members. He tells himself he'll call her tomorrow. He'll call her every day, of course. She's family.

"We could watch a movie?"

He feels rather than sees Ziva roll her eyes. "We could _not._" Her voice is flat, like maybe she wishes this godforsaken day would just end already.

"Fine." There is an awkward patch of silence in which Tony takes a slice of pizza to occupy himself. It is cold and greasy and too spicy for his liking, and he side-eyes them wondering who is the guilty culprit. _David, no doubt, even her taste buds are Mossad-trained_.

Their watches beep midnight in sudden unison. Neither of them moves, neither of them speaks, McGee in the armchair, Tony and Ziva on the couch, the only sound Tony's lazy chewing. McGee yawns. Ziva slips her shoes off and pulls her knees up to her chest. She rests her chin on them, turns her head to Tony and regards him as though he has all the answers in the world.

He carries on chewing.

She smiles at him like he has answered her questions, and leans back against the couch. He remembers Berlin, how she couldn't sleep unless he was beside her, he remembers a hundred different late-night stakeouts, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee.

McGee yawns again. They could all use a decent night's sleep. He feels like he ought to say something, something smart or even comforting. He is the senior agent and it feels like a part of his duty to refocus his team right now, but then he catches himself because _no, _he isn't senior _anything, _and they aren't even his team. They are Timmy and Ziva and, somehow in the past few years, they have become the people he knows best in the entire world.

Even so, he doesn't feel right just sitting there. He needs to talk. He needs them to listen and to confirm that this is the right thing. He needs their assurance that, somehow, things might actually work out fine. "Listen…" He begins his big speech, eyes on the far wall of his apartment.

"Shhh," Ziva has a finger to her lips and points her head towards McGee, who is out cold in the armchair.

_Bless_, thinks Tony. He envies him. Sleep would be real good right now.

"You want a beer?" His voice is a whisper now, mindful of McGee.

Ziva shakes her head once, shifts her legs under her and curls up against the back of the couch. Tony is well aware of how easy it would be to move a little closer to her and, with any luck, she would shuffle into his arms. Easy as pie.

Easy yes, but far too soon. He tells himself they have a whole summer full of unemployed days stretching ahead of them in which, he is certain, there will be many more not-quite-team gatherings. He tells himself the very fact that she is here sitting beside him tonight, sleepy and calm, means that things will be okay, one day.

She looks at him and closes her eyes and he just _knows _she is thinking of Berlin.

"Tony," she begins, and he pauses. One of his many favorite things about Ziva is the fact that he can never predict what she is going to say. Even after all these years, she still takes him out at the knees.

"Tony, will it matter? If Gibbs is vindicated and all this just turns into a huge pile of paperwork, will it matter that we did this?" _Oh._

"That we were prepared to go down with him?" She grunts her agreement. "Well, yeah. Of course it matters."

"That is family."

"Yeah."

It is easy to forget that this is the first family Ziva knows where loyalty isn't just another method of control. He smiles, even though she can't see him. _Especially_ if she can't see him.

"Good," she says.

"It's the only thing that matters."

"It matters more than the truth?"

Tony thinks on this for a while. Gibbs is a good man, he knows it in his heart and in his gut, in the little segment of his brain he reserves for rules and heroics and _doing the right thing_. He knows it in the way he lifts his gun to protect a civilian way before his brain is even in gear. It is instinct. Gibbs taught him that.

"Yeah, it does. But the truth is, Gibbs is golden, and this mess is just plain wrong." He doesn't want to talk about this, not now. It is way too raw. He wants to sit in the dark and the quiet, listen to McGee's deep breaths, and watch Ziva slowly fall into sleep.

"Yes." She stretches a little and her toes curl. Tony gets an aching in his heart, the kind of aching he just cannot deal with today. It has been a long day of taking chances and looking at Ziva is one chance too many.

She reaches out her hand across the couch. He takes it and, too late, remembers the car accident. He gets a little flash of white-hot pain behind his eyes that he doesn't think will ever go away. He will always remember that split second of searing realization as he watched the car hurl towards them. His fingers curl over Ziva's. Her hands are worn and thin, just as he remembers them.

She still has her eyes closed. He marvels that she can look both tired and breath-taking at the same time.

"Who will bring our morning coffee now?" She doesn't cry. She _can't_ cry, because she is Ziva David and tears are not her language.

Tony closes his eyes. "We'll take it in turns."

"And Caf-Pow for Abby, too?"

"Yes. Abby too."

"And we should get something for Ducky."

"What does Ducky drink? _Does _Ducky even drink?"

This earns him a light laugh. "Tea."

He tugs her hand. "Sure. Tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow."


	2. Day One

Next day he wakes up to a headache, which he feels is totally undeserved considering the lack of alcohol consumed last night. He gulps down Advil and returns to the sofa to wait for it to take effect. Everything feels faint like he hasn't eaten for a week, which isn't true at all. He remembers Ducky saying once that grief takes a physical hold on the body too and maybe Ducky is right, maybe Tony is grieving for the way things used to be.

His fidgeting wakes Ziva and he forgets all about grieving.

"Morning," he says, and regrets the forced chipperness in his voice. His throat aches and he winces.

"Where's McGee?" Most people get grouchy when they first wake up. Ziva, true to form, gets suspicious.

Tony shrugs. He vaguely remembers McGee getting up in the middle of the night and complaining about how uncomfortable Tony's armchair was and Tony had bitten back a sarcastic retort in favor of not waking Ziva. The armchair is deserted now.

"Hey, I figured we could go into the office today?"

Ziva looks doubtful. "You having second thoughts?"

"No!" He isn't, mostly. "I just mean: stop by and see Abby, and maybe get some things from my desk. I left a lot of stuff." Like his Starbucks rewards card.

"Sure. Okay. They'll probably want us to clear our desks anyway. The sooner we clear them, the sooner they can assign them to new agents."

"New agents are welcome to them as far as I'm concerned," but even he isn't convinced at his words and he frowns.

Ziva slinks off toward the bathroom. He should shower too. He should get up, put on a shirt and possibly a tie, find his fancy shoes, and bust Gibbs outta there. Failing that, he could at least make some noise about how unfair the whole situation is under the pretence of clearing his desk. Failing _that, _he should visit Abby, at the very least.

He hears the water come on and pads off toward the kitchen, fiddling with the coffee machine. He pulls out his cup and finds one for Ziva, hesitates over finding a third for McGee but figures he more than likely hightailed it back to his own apartment and his comfy bed. _Nice move, probie,_ thinks Tony, and then he feels guilty for being more-than-happy to spend the morning alone with Ziva.

A few moments later Ziva trails out of the bathroom with her wet hair sticking like kelp to her reddened face. Tony hands her the coffee and she sips it with a smile of thanks. "Could I borrow a comb?"

"A comb? Ziva, do I look like the kind of guy who owns a _comb?_" He runs a hand through his short hair to prove his point.

"Tony, you own fifteen types of moisturizer and something that smells suspiciously like floral cologne. If there is a type of guy who owns a comb, you are definitely that type."

She has a point. He points her toward the bedroom. "Table beside the bed."

He returns to his coffee and thinks nothing more of it until he hears a gasp and a yelp from the bedroom. He almost jumps for his gun but figures Ziva may have discovered his magazine collection so he steals himself, waiting, until the bedroom door reopens and Ziva comes out, tugging McGee behind her.

"Look who I found in your bed!"

McGee yawns and doesn't even look embarrassed.

"McGee, I thought you went home."

McGee sits at the table and stretches his leg lazily. "In the middle of the night? Yeah right. That armchair was so uncomfortable so I figured there's a perfectly good bed in there, why not use it?"

Tony claps him on the shoulder. "Man's got a point!"

Ziva looks unnerved and rolls her eyes, heading back for the comb. "You know, I bet there aren't many other NCIS teams who cohabitate…"

* * *

Upon entering the lab they are met with relative silence, which is completely unexpected because this is Abby and this is her lab and when is it not drowning in loud music? Tony frowns and is almost worried until he catches sight of the prodigal forensic scientist, her back to them as she leans over her computer screen, iPod earphones blaring out something loud and fast and annoying. Tony smiles. She looks fine, all things considered.

"Hey Abby!" McGee says, but she doesn't hear him. He frowns and moves up behind her, going to tug lightly on her pigtails but her Gibbs gut must be improving because she turns around at the last minute and fixes him with a menacing glare. The earphones dislodge as she opens her mouth in shock.

"Tim!" She grins and smothers him in a hug, her iPod getting all tangled as McGee lifts her off her feet, which Tony thinks is pretty impressive considering the height of her platform boots. "You're here! How are you here? They let you in?"

"Visitors pass," McGee explains once he has deposited Abby back on the ground. She inspects his visitor pass with a sad smile. She hands it back and stares at him a while longer until she is satisfied that he is ok, and turns her attention to Tony and Ziva.

"You guys!" She shuffles towards them in her boots and attempts to hug them both at once. Tony finds himself pulled in pretty tight and the visitor badge around his neck gets tangled in the metal chains attached to Abby's shirt and Ziva's elbow ends up dislodging his kidney but he is happy nonetheless. He wants to apologize to Abby, to check she's ok, to make sure she's getting enough sleep and not too much caffeine but he isn't Gibbs and he has no idea how Abby would react to him pretending to be Gibbs. He settles for patting her head affectionately, and she beams up at him.

She looks at Ziva, still clinging to her hand tightly. "So is this for real? You guys are finito?"

"Finito?"

"Nothing is for definite Abby," says Tony, even though he isn't entirely sure of that himself. "We're just making a stand here."

"But you're coming back?"

Ziva will not look her in the eyes. Ziva is a trained liar and a professional sleuth but she cannot look at Abby's hopeful face and tell a barefaced lie. "I don't know."

"Well you're here now, right?"

"Paperwork and clean up, Abs," says McGee. "We're clearing out our desks."

"Oh." Abby looks as though someone has just shot a puppy in front of her, and Tony feels like utter crap to be the cause of that look.

The lab seems a lot colder and Abby finally lets go of Ziva's hand, takes a couple steps back and repositions herself at her computer. She taps aimlessly at the keyboard and fixes her eyes on the monitor with the precise concentration of someone who is fighting back tears. Tony feels _painfully _bad now.

"I'm busy, guys."

"Abby come on," McGee steps closer but she fixes him with a death stare. "Abs, we'll still visit you. We're still a team."

"No we're _not _McGee. You guys left. You _left me._"

Tony cannot argue with that. She's said it loud and clear and no matter how he might try to dress up their actions as some valiant act of defiance, the truth was they had unwittingly left Abby in the midst of this shitstorm. He mentally imagines Gibbs slapping him about the head, at least three times.

"Guys please, go and clean out your desks. I'm busy here."

Ziva looks torn between getting the hell out of there and rushing forward and clinging to Abby. Tony recognizes these signs in Ziva more and more recently, the conflict of emotions inside her, her fluctuation between distanced trained assassin and concerned friend.

"Abby…" But Tony isn't sure what to say without it sounding like a lie. Things are difficult, complicated, very screwed up right now and he knows Gibbs would be pissed to see them put Abby through this. "Abby we can't come back, yet, you know that. But one day…"

"One day?" She sniffles and does not look at him. "You mean you want to come back?"

"Of course!" Says McGee, and Abby smiles at him.

"Why wouldn't we Abs? I love this job." He does love his job, more than he thinks most NCIS agents do and he isn't afraid to admit that most of that is down to the three people in the lab with him right now. And the two in autopsy downstairs. And the one in custody.

"Good," says Abby, and manages to look a lot happier. She fixes them all with a smile. "But, I actually am busy guys. Things to do, people to incriminate, you know how it is."

"Gotcha," Tony winks.

"We'll come see you before we leave, alright?" McGee says this while poking her shoulder lightly and Tony wishes probie would just man up and hug the poor girl.

"You better!"

* * *

Sitting at his desk alone in the bullpen is something so sufficiently normal that Tony almost forgets the fact that it isn't even his desk right now. The surface is cleaned of debris and his paperwork has been carried off to be reassigned and his computer is unplugged and tidied away. Most of the drawers are empty, but mainly because he threw a lot of it in the trash. He hadn't realized how much crap he actually accumulated over the years.

He sits with the final desk drawer open. Inside is one of McGee's comic books he stole about six years ago that the probie has been looking for ever since. A bundle of keys, although he's not sure where they go to. A chocolate bar that looks suspiciously like it has melted in its wrapper. Lots of Ziva's stationary that he has borrowed and forgot to give back. And finally, beneath all of this he finds a small soft ball. He sits with it in his palm, tossing it up and down, up and down. It is squishy and relaxing and he wonders how it has managed to stay unnoticed in the drawer for almost ten years. It is bright pink and has "I'm a jerk" written across it in big black lettering.

A hand appears above him as he tosses the ball up, snatching the ball away.

"_I'm a jerk?_" She reads it with a scowl and on any other day Tony would totally bite the bait here, but he really isn't in the mood. He fixes Ziva with a look that he hopes says _don't._

She ignores his look. "Where did you get this? I've never seen it before."

He doesn't know how to tell her it was a gift from Kate without revealing the great big Ari-shaped elephant in the room so he shrugs. "Just something an old friend gave me."

Ziva reads between the lines because she is Ziva, and nods awkwardly. Tony feels even more like crap than he already did and realizes, too late, that he should have just told her it was from McGee.

She changes the subject. "Are you all packed away?" She hands him the ball back.

"Yes. Ready to leave as soon as you are, preferably sooner rather than later 'cause it's driving me crazy sitting here with everyone staring at me."

"Since when do you care what people think?"

"Uh, since always. We quit, all together, and Gibbs was carted away, and you know how fast gossip travels here."

"Maybe they're concerned?"

"Maybe they're nosy little jerks who should focus on their work for a change." He raises his voice a little in the hope that someone might hear. The office grows awkwardly silent and Ziva raises an eyebrow at him before retreating to her own desk.

The elevator pings and McGee strolls toward them, his face furrowed. "What the hell happened in here?" He whispers.

Ziva doesn't bother to whisper. "Tony can't handle inter-office gossip."

"Can too."

"Oh please, you cannot."

Tony rolls his eyes at her but his heart isn't in it. He sweeps the remainder of his stuff into his backpack and tosses the comic back to McGee, who gawps at him.

"_'The Cell?'_ Tony, why do you have a Punisher comic?"

Tony waits for the cogs to align.

"Wait, is this _my _copy of Punisher's _'The Cell'_?"

Tony grins. Totally worth the six-year wait.

* * *

Abby hugs them each at least a minute longer than the requisite hug-time before they leave. McGee slips a Caf-Pow onto her desk but she ignores it in favor of hugging Ziva again.

"Call me if anything happens."

Tony frowns. "Anything like what?"

"Y'know," she lowers her voice conspiratorially, "Gibbs-related happenings."

Oh.

"Sure." He isn't expecting anything new to happen with Gibbs's case for at least a few days yet. He knows how long it takes to sort through evidence and Abby ought to know too, but he thinks maybe she's just being hopeful.

"Oh!" She brightens up and ushers them closer to her desk, brandishing a small red flyer emblazoned with black spikey lettering. "I almost forgot! My friend's band is playing their first show at this bar tomorrow night, and they want as many people as possible there."

Tony thinks this sounds suspiciously like an invite. He backs up. "Band? What band?" Knowing Abby it is something preposterous and deafening.

"Sacrificial Goat."

"That is their _name?_" Ziva looks like she doesn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Sure. And they're playing their first gig tomorrow. They're pretty nervous. I said I'd ask around, get people to come, y'know. It'll make them feel better knowing there's a big crowd there to see them."

"Right," Tony draws this word out as much as possible. He wonders how to let Abby down gently because there is no way he can imagine himself willingly walking into this death trap.

"Jimmy already said he'd come."

Wait. "_Palmer? _Palmer plus thrash metal?"

"He's pretty excited, apparently."

McGee looks dumbfounded. "Wow. I never would've guessed."

"That'll teach you to underestimate us scientists."

Tony is still trying to figure out a polite way to decline until Ziva throws a spanner in the works by touching Abby's elbow gently. "Of course we'll be there."

"We will?" Says Tony.

"We will!" Says McGee.

"Yay!" Abby bounces up and down a few times for emphasis.

Tony groans.


	3. Day Two

He wakes up to the agonizing trill of his cell phone in the nearby vicinity. He blindly waves a hand around and somehow manages to grab a hold of it, and he slams it against his ear with a bit too much force.

"Ouch."

"Most people open a telephone conversation with 'hello', you know."

Ziva. "Ziva." Why is Ziva calling at… he scans around for a clock, but the only clock is his cell phone and so he grimaces. It feels too early to be verbally sparring with his ex-coworker-maybe-friend-maybe-more-he-doesn't-eve n-know. "No. It's too early."

"Tony it's eleven in the afternoon."

"Eleven is still the morning, Ziva."

"It is not."

"Either way, I was asleep."

"Having a nice dream?" He can practically _hear _her eyebrows shoot upwards.

"Um –" He hadn't been dreaming at all, actually, his sleep was restless and his brain is muddled and he still isn't sure how to deal with being unemployed. "What did you want, Ziva?"

"You, actually."

Oh.

Maybe his brain isn't fully awake yet. Or maybe –

Oh.

"Oh?"

"Yes. Abby's party-gathering-thing is tonight."

It is? He has blissfully forgotten about the fact that Ziva volunteered them to jump into the fray of Abby's weird sub-culture of friends.

"Yes," continues Ziva, "I wanted to check whether or not you are actually going?"

Is he going? He isn't sure. He feels terrible, like maybe curling on the sofa and watching Life Movies isn't _that bad_ of an idea. Abby will understand. Maybe.

And Ziva? She sounds like her going to the party is dependent on his going to the party. If he doesn't go, will she? And then it hits him all at once, and he thinks it is probably his brain finally waking up. Abby's party-gig-thing will be his and Ziva's first _outing_ since resignation, their first time out as not-coworkers, and their first music-based-activity since Berlin.

Berlin.

Yeah.

"Sure," he says, "I'll go."

"Great, I'll see you there."

Yes, he thinks, _yes._

* * *

The gig is loud, as he predicted, and he attempts to arrive late so as to avoid most of the crowds, but apparently the band are running behind and so he manages to turn up right while they are still setting up.

Great.

The club is smallish but nicely decorated (and by that he means there is a minimal amount of tacky gothic decorations) and the band are on a little stage at the back, far away from the bar. About a hundred people are crowded into this tiny space and Tony cannot believe this isn't breaking some fire safety regulations. Every single person is decked out in weird black outfits and look like Abby-minions, only less chipper.

He has little to no hope of locating either of his teammates, so he settles himself at the bar.

They all probably arrived earlier than him. Ziva likes to be the first there, attentive and on time right down to the second. McGee probably turned up with Abby which (knowing Abby) was probably hours before the band even woke up. Palmer is anyone's guess.

Tony orders whiskey and coke. It tastes like bad decisions.

"Hey – you're here."

Tony turns and the look he shoots at McGee is possibly the most loving he has ever given him. "Probie, thank god, I thought I'd have to brave this place alone."

"It's not that bad." McGee actually looks like he's enjoying himself. Tony cannot believe this man. "Have you seen Palmer?" he continues, "He's wearing a Cranberries shirt."

Tony downs the rest of his drink. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Well –"

The rest of McGee's sentence is drowned in a fit of squeals as Abby launches herself toward them and attempts to hug them both at once. "Tony, you actually came."

"I said I would."

She kisses his cheek and looks so entirely pleased that he thinks it is worth putting himself though the agony of a counterculture gathering. Her hair has bright yellow ribbons woven into the pigtails and he touches them fondly. He is never not impressed by her ability to carry on, to see the joy in any situation. He knows she misses Gibbs more than any of them, in ways he cannot understand, and he hugs her back, tight.

She steps away from him to jab McGee's ribs. McGee squeaks. "Hey Tim, you told him about Jimmy yet?"

"I _was._"

Tony cannot hold it in any longer. "Either of you know where Ziva is?"

They look at each other and their eyes grow wide and McGee looks intensely disappointed.

"I told you!" Abby crows. She punches poor McGee on the arm, who yelps this time.

"Told him what?"

"I _told _him you couldn't even leave it five minutes without asking about Ziva. I knew it!" She looks fit to burst with gloating and grins at McGee. "You owe me a drink."

McGee scowls. "Oh, if we're calling in debts, you owe me forty dollars."

"Since when?!"

"Since two-thousand-and-three."

Tony loves them, he really does. "No but really guys, Ziva?"

They are distracted and dangerously close to going into full on not-a-couple-bicker-mode but Abby manages to look at him and jerk her head towards the corner near where the band are tuning up, and sure enough Tony follows her gaze to see Ziva and some dude with spiky hair engaged in conversation.

It hurts, a little, but this is free country and Ziva is not someone he should get jealous about and, really, the guy has spiky hair, he looks ridiculous.

Tony is not jealous. No. Not even slightly.

"Ugh," says Abby, "We need music."

Death metal band or not, Tony agrees with her.

* * *

By the time the band are halfway through their first song (which, surprisingly, appears to last at least eight minutes), Tony has one hundred per cent made up his mind. He does not like death metal music. He knew that anyway, but now it is a bona fide fact.

Sacrificial Goat are a decent band, as far as he can tell. They play some catchy tunes and the crowd seems more than pleased by their tracklist. But it's just _noise_,and then about a second of silence and then more noise.

Tony stands with Palmer at the back of the crowd. The autopsy gremlin only has a limited amount of energy and now that it is getting late he looks like he could fall asleep standing up. He wobbles and knocks into Tony.

"Why not go home?"

Jimmy fixes him with a shaky glare. He's not even that drunk, but he's been agitated all night. "Easier said than done."

"Want me to call you a cab?"

"If that cab will take me to your place, where I can stay tonight?"

Um.

Weird.

"Palmer… what?"

"Nothing."

"You don't want to go home?"

Palmer says nothing, which means 'yes'.

Tony sighs. Out of everyone in the whole world, ever, Palmer is the last person Tony expects to be avoiding home.

"Did you and Breena fight?" Tony doubts that Palmer has ever fought with anyone, but he doesn't know what else to say.

"Not exactly. Not yet, anyway. I kind of want to avoid the fight that may or may not happen."

"Getting pretty cryptic there Palmer."

Palmer is silent for several long minutes in which Tony wishes he had invested in earplugs. The band are playing louder and louder and the crowd scream louder in response. It is his idea of hell, for sure.

"So." Says Jimmy, and Tony waits for it. Palmer has a habit of long drawn out pauses that he must get from Ducky.

"Sooo…?"

"So Breena's pregnant."

Wow.

"Wow."

"I know, right?"

"Congrats, Daddy Palmer." Tony claps his shoulder a couple of times and gives him a one-armed hug. "That's great news!" It's the greatest news Tony has heard for a while and it makes him happier than it normally would.

"It is?"

"Yeah! But, Palmer, what the hell are you doing here? Go home."

"She told me she was pregnant…"

"And what did you say?"

"I said 'I'm late for work' and then I went to the lab and then Abby came in when my shift was over and we came right here and I haven't spoken to Breena at all."

"No. No no no no, this is not allowed to happen, Palmer. You will not screw this up. You will go home right now to your wife and tell her how happy you are about your future offspring. You are _happy _right?"

"I think I am. I mean, yes, of course. Just nervous."

"Nervous is fine. Happy is good. Going to a stupid gig right now is neither fine nor good. Go home. Now. Got it Palmer?"

Jimmy looks resigned to his fate. "Got it." He passes the remainder of his beer to Tony (which is almost a full bottle because Palmer is a terrible _lightweight_) and nods once, before making a beeline for the door.

"Good man," says Tony quietly. He's not normally good with kids, less so with babies, totally inexperienced with pregnant hormonal women, but Jimmy and Breena feel like the one good thing his family has going right now and damned if he is going to sit back and let it fall apart.

* * *

By midnight Tony is alone and increasingly sick of listening to the band play over and over. Midnight is an acceptable time to leave, right? The guys are nowhere to be seen though, and Tony cannot leave without at least making sure they are okay. He knows his fear is irrational because, firstly they are grown adults, and secondly, they are trained federal agents and have faced worse dangers than an overcrowded club.

He thinks this is how Gibbs must feel during everyday menial situations; watching them cross the street, watching them take down a suspect, watching them skip too many meals. He worries for his team, in a strange way he cannot explain. Tony feels it in his gut and it gets worse the longer he spends with them out of his line of sight.

He takes a deep breath and heads into the fray; if anyone will know where they are then it is Abby. He sees her by the stage, jumping up and down in unison with a bunch of people who are apparently her friends. They all wear dark clothes and big boots and crazy hair, and Tony feels so out of place that he feels an awkwardness he hasn't felt since junior high.

Tony navigates the mosh crowd towards Abby's pigtailed head and, when the song ends, calls out for her. She wheels on the balls of her feet and comes clambering towards him. She holds his hand and grins at him and he thinks she is a little drunk.

"Hey Tony!"

"Hey Abs. Did you see where McGee and Ziva went?"

"I don't know about Ziva. But McGee went out back for some air, but that was about thirty minutes ago."

Tony thinks McGee is a smart, smart man.

He makes his way towards the club's front exit for a breath of fresh air, and emerges into the cool air on the street with a gasp of relief. The air inside is clammy and horribly ripe, and Tony feels his t-shirt sticking to his back.

He pats himself down and finds that he has (somehow) survived the pulsing crowds. He is tired and really, really wants to go home.

He's just considering which cab company to call when someone presses against his side and a cold bottle of beer finds its way into his hand.

"You look exhausted."

He turns to look at her, which really doesn't take that much effort because she is _right there _against his shoulder. "You look…" he intends to counter with something funny and snappy but the truth is she looks stunning, completely unphased by the chaos of the club. He thinks Ziva is the sort of person who could walk through a warzone and still look gorgeous.

Hell, she's done that.

"I look…?"

He smiles at her. "You look like just the person I want to see."

"You don't like the band?"

"Are you kidding? I _hate _the band."

"I must admit, they're not to my usual taste."

"That doesn't surprise me at all."

"They're a little… loud."

"I was going to say horrific, but yeah, loud."

She laughs and leans forward to press her face into his arm and he can feel the peals of laughter shaking him. "They do suck major time."

"Big time. Major league. Don't mix your idioms Ziva."

Correcting her has become second nature and so has her response of a glare. He thinks it is a kind of dance that they do, playful without breaking out of habit. He wonders what she would do if he kissed her. Habit is pretty much out the window at this point, case in point: unemployment, and being at one of Abby's crazy parties.

He swigs his beer instead. Probably for the best.


End file.
